


So When Your New Eyes See Mine, They Won't See No Lies, Just Love

by noxlunate



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Established Relationship, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 09:27:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3931690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlunate/pseuds/noxlunate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world of magic, male pregnancy is known, but still relatively rare. Mickey is one of those fucking rarities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So When Your New Eyes See Mine, They Won't See No Lies, Just Love

**Author's Note:**

> A couple notes!!! 
> 
> 1\. I know mpreg isn't something tons of people love, but I had this in my head so I had to write it. 
> 
> 2\. Magic is a thing in this universe, and I've got some head canons for it, so it's entirely possible I'll revisit this universe one day. 
> 
> 3\. Title is from No Lies, Just Love by Bright Eyes

“You fuckin knocked me up.” 

Ian has seen people light people on fire with their minds, has dealt with Mandy’s first transformations, and yet he stares at Mickey like he’s speaking another fucking language. 

“what?” 

“I said, you fuckin knocked me up dumbass. 1 in 25 fuckin shot of being a carrier, and here I fuckin am, _carrying_.” 

 

“Is it- I mean- Do you- Is-“ 

“If you even think of asking if the thing is your I’m cutting your fucking dick off.” He warns, eyebrows furrowed and lips twisted into a scowl. He doesn’t know what he expected, honestly, but Ian questioning the paternity of his kid wasn’t it. 

Ian looks properly abashed as soon as Mickey’s words leave his mouth though, and he raises his hands in a surrendering, soothing sort of gesture, shifting closer to Mickey in tiny increments like Mickey won’t notice if he’s slow enough. He’s fucking _quiet_ , and it makes Mickey nervous, because Ian’s not quite until he’s low, and Mickey’s pretty sure that’s not what this is, but he can’t handle this pregnancy bombshell and Ian dropping off the deep end again. 

“You gonna keep it?” Ian asks finally, and Mickey can tell the expression he’s aiming for is ‘unreadable’, probably trying to keep pressure off Mickey or some shit, but he can see the hope there, can see the fucking _fear_. It’s just, Mickey doesn’t know which answer all of that is for, and that kinda makes the pressure _worse_. 

He shrugs, aiming for noncommittal and knowing he’s failing. “I figured I would, yeah. No sense in getting rid of the thing if I’m apparently a special snowflake for being able to even have it.” If Mickey’s honest, the thought of getting rid of it hadn’t even occurred to him, not until he’d gone to tell Ian. He doesn’t like to think he does warm and fuzzy feelings, even though the past couple years with Ian have proven him wrong time and time again, but every time he’s thought of it, thought of the kid that’s going to be popping out of him in nine months time, a mix of him and Ian, well, he feels _warm_. He feels like a fuckin sap, but this kid’s _his_ , and he’s keeping it. 

“Oh.” Is all Ian says, and his face is in that in-between stage where he’s not sure what to think and fuck, Mickey thinks maybe he screwed this all up. They’ve had a good thing going for the past couple years, once they got past their rough spots and Terry had been locked up. 

“You don’t have to- I mean, fuck man, I’m not asking you to raise the kid if you don’t wanna. Me wanting to keep it doesn’t mean you’re obligated or any shit like that. I can do this on my own.” He says, trying to give Ian an out, but before he knows it, Ian’s crowding into his space, bracing his hands on Mickey’s hips and pressing their foreheads together. Mickey can remember a time where he would have flinched away from that, at the intimacy it represented, but now he relaxes into it, lets his head rest against Ian’s and crosses his eyes a little to take in the way his expression has transformed into something pleased. 

“You’re not doing this on your own, no way in hell. That’s my kid in there, you can bet your ass I’m gonna be around for everything.” 

“Shoulda figured you wouldn’t ditch a kid, you fuckin do-gooder.” Mickey can’t quite help his grin, the way his bones and muscles have gone loose as he leans against Ian now that he fucking _knows_ he didn’t just fuck everything up. Their good thing is still just that, good. 

——————————————————————————

“I hate you.” Mickey tells Ian, though it lacks any heat, any sincerity. He just feels the need to say it, because Mickey Milkovich fucking _hates_ doctors, and Ian is the one that knocked him up and made it so that he’s currently sitting in a doctor’s office, perched on the edge of the bed in one of those dumbass gowns that leaves his ass exposed. 

The doctor was recommended by V, and though he hasn’t met her yet, Mickey suspects she’s the kind of person that seems way too in tune with her healer-witchy roots. He’s pretty sure there’s like ten layers of spell work around the place that are working to make him comfortable, to even out his heart rate, lower stress, and create the ‘optimum pregnancy environment.’ 

It’s weird as hell, but it sucks all the hatred out of him, so Mickey just rolls his eyes when Ian grins at him and settles back into the bed a little more. 

When the doctor finally comes in, she’s got olive skin, a mess of hair piled on top of her head, and a doctor’s coat over an outfit that Mickey can only stare at because _wow paisley_. She looks a lot like the physical embodiment of the smell of patchouli, though when Mickey does his best to sniff discreetly she doesn’t smell like that. She smells like vanilla, and the burnt sugar smell of white magic. 

“You must be Mickey and Ian, the new parents to be. I’m Nova Stone, it’s a pleasure to meet you both.” She says, extending her hand to Mickey and looking unperturbed when he ignores it and just gives a weird little wave. Mickey’s a little stuck on the name, it reeks of the witchy bullshit name some north side coven would give their kid. 

“What the fuck kinda name is Nova?” He says instead of ‘nice to meet you too’ or something that would be appropriate to say to the woman who’s going to spend the next nine months or so fondling Mickey’s bits and making sure he and his child are healthy.

Ian seems to think it’s not a totally acceptable greeting either, judging by the way he pinches Mickey’s thigh but Doctor Stone just laughs, a fucking _tinkling laugh_ , and Mickey’s suddenly not 100% sure if she’s a witch or part fae. Maybe siren? Mickey’s never met one himself, but he imagines they’d have those weird laughs that sound like bells the way a lot of the fair folk do. 

“You’d have to ask my mother. Apparently, she was still pretty high when it came to the naming and my Dad couldn’t say no. So, Nova it is.” She says, flicking through Mickey’s medical file. “I have a feeling you’d like to get this show on the road though, so let’s go over what we’ll be doing today. This’ll probably be the longest appointment you have with me, barring any problems, which hopefully there’ll be none, though I feel it’s important to warn you that male carriers have a higher rate of problems. Magic, not biology, is what makes it possible for you to have a child, and as we all know, magic can be a bit fickle. I’ve gone through many pregnancies with male carriers without a hitch though, and you seem like a strong young man, so I have a feeling this’ll be dandy.” 

Mickey barely resists the urge to mouth ‘strong young man’ and ‘ _dandy_ ’ to himself. Instead he flaps his hand in a ‘go on’ gesture. “I know all the shit about male carriers and magic and biology and whatnot. We all took health class. I’m also pretty aware that magic has a cruel sense of humor, so can we just go over what we’re doing here?” He’s not _trying_ to be rude, he’s just nervous, and the thought of whatever makes it possible to do this, to have a kid, changing it’s mind somehow and making shit difficult, well he doesn’t like that thought. Doctor Stone seems to understand though, just nods, smiling slightly as she shifts her papers around. 

“Can do. We’ll discuss your medical history a bit. The nurse went over it with you already, but I’ve got a few more questions. Then we’ll do a physical, after that we’ll draw some blood to run a few tests. While we’re waiting for results I’ll go over some of your new limitations, recommendations and we’ll set up a vitamin regimen. Nothing too serious and you can ask questions about anything at any time. That’s what I’m here for.” At Mickey’s slight nod of understanding she grins, threads her fingers together and tilts her head. “Let’s get this show on the road then.” 

 

———————————————————————————

Mickey like Doctor Stone. Ian seems surprised by that fact, especially when V asks how the appointment had gone and Mickey practically gushes about the woman. Granted, you’d have to _really_ know Mickey to be able to tell that Mickey’s gushing because it’s pretty subdued gushing, but Ian does and Mickey knows Ian enough to know that he can tell that he is because, well, Mickey’s not really minding this pregnancy thing, or the doctor he has to see him through it. 

So Mickey likes his doctor, and he doesn’t _hate_ being pregnant, which is fucking surprising, not just to Ian. Mickey hadn’t expected to like it, okay? He wasn’t too fond of change, and he wasn’t too stoked on things that were out of his control, and this? This growing a life form inside of him thing? It was full of both. His body was full of hormones that he couldn’t control, and as the pregnancy progressed his body was _changing_ , and there was a solid month where he couldn’t keep anything but saltines and chicken broth and raw carrots down. 

When it came down to it though, it wasn’t that bad. Ian was weirdly good at dealing with Mickey’s (occasionally violent) mood swings. He couldn’t seem to keep his hands off of Mickey, especially his stomach. He kept the house fully stocked with things Mickey could eat, and he treated it as a triumph of epic proportions when Mickey managed to add ranch to his carrots and keep it down. Mickey could almost say it was nice. 

He _does_ say it’s nice, though it’s not until he’s six months into all of it, watching through half lidded eyes as Ian walks his fingers over Mickey’s bump. They’re laid out in bed, trying to beat the heat of Chicago summer with the fans facing them and Ian has his head level with Mickey’s stomach, eyes closed as he absently touches Mickey’s skin where it’s exposed from his shirt riding up. He can’t stop thinking about it though, how fucking _nice_ this is, how _good_ Ian’s been, how he doesn’t hover like Mickey had expected him too, but is instead just _there_ when Mickey needs him, and how their doctor isn’t a huge cunt like he’d thought she’d be, and how Mandy’s painting the nursery (or rather, wrangled Lip into doing it for her) and scouring thrift stores and craigs list for what they need to raise a kid. It’s not bad. It’s actually pretty fucking good. 

“Y’know, this isn’t bad.” He mumbles, fingers sliding into Ian’s hair to comb through the sweaty strands. It’s kind of unbearably hot, and Mickey could complain that he’s doing the bulk of carrying this kid during the hottest time of year, but doesn’t. (He does. Just not right then. Not when he’s sleepy and content, despite his aching back and lack of air conditioning) 

“Hmm?” Ian hums questioningly, tilting his head up to blink bleary eyes open and look at Mickey, pressing his palm to the curve of Mickey’s stomach. 

“This whole having a kid thing, it’s not actually the worst.” He says, clarifying, and not fighting his tiny smile when Ian beams at him. 

“Yeah? Really? I kinda expected you to bitch at me about it more, not gonna lie. Or punch me for knocking you up cause your back hurts or some shit.” He says, pressing his hand in a little more, grinning when the baby kicks and Mickey makes a grumbling noise because Ian’s not supposed to be encouraging their spawn to use his insides as a punching bag. 

“I still have time.” Mickey gives a tug to Ian’s hair, and grins when he hears the hitch in Ian’s breathing. “I’ll probably definitely beat the shit out of you when it comes time to get the hellspawn out of me. And my back _does_ hurt, and it’s totally your fault Gallagher.” 

“You said it was nice though.” 

“I said it wasn’t bad. There’s a difference.” He says, because being contrary is like second nature to him.

“You think it’s niiiiiice.” Ian draws out the word, like it has more of an impact that way, like he can will Mickey into admitting it just by saying it with enough emphasis. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s nice, I guess.” Mickey agrees finally, huffing out a laugh when Ian’s on top of him, pressing their lips together in a kiss, his hands still on Mickey’s stomach. 

 

———————————————————————————

It’s not so nice a couple months later when Mickey goes into labor. He’s three weeks early, and Ian’s fucking _steady_ beside him as Doctor Stone tells him this is it, he’s having his baby, they’re ready to come out. He doesn’t feel steady like Ian, feels like he’s repeated “but it’s not time yet.” and “I’ve still got three weeks” and “they’re not ready. They need more time.” a dozen times each. 

Doctor Stone takes ahold of one of Mickey’s hands, leans close and stares him down, makes him pay attention to her instead of the growing panic, instead of the way his heart’s pounding in his chest and he feels like he can’t breath because _what if?_ What if his baby isn’t ready and something’s wrong because they didn’t have enough time? _What if?_ “Mickey, listen to me, your body, your magic, and your baby, they know what they’re doing here. Just relax as much as you can and let me do my part here. You’ve done all the important bits.” 

Her words do the trick and Mickey maybe doesn’t relax entirely, but he calms enough that he can focus on the feel of Ian’s hand in his own and let the younger man relax him the rest of the way. Focuses on Ian while they’re getting the iv into him, and Doctor Stone is moving her hands over his stomach, the tingling spark of magic emanating from them. He’s not 110% sure what she’s doing, though he thinks maybe she’d told him a month ago when they’d gone over the birthing plan. Whatever it is, she seems pleased, and shortly after they’re wheeling him into the room that his kid’ll be born in. 

There’s a blue curtain above Mickey’s stomach, blocking him from seeing the view of them cutting into his stomach and he’s so fucking thankful for that, especially when he sees Ian’s face, sees the way he’s suddenly not so steady anymore. He squeezes Ian’s hand, thinks maybe it’s a little weird that he’s the one comforting Ian when Mickey’s the one who currently has doctors cutting into his skin. 

It goes by so quick. One minutes he’s squeezing Ian’s hand, saying “relax fuckface, I’m the one they’re operating on” and the next there’s a tugging sensation and a doctor is lifting a fucking _baby_ above the blue curtain. The moment after that, Mickey’s fucking panicking because he’s pretty sure babies are supposed to be crying when they come into the world and his kid’s silent. They’re silent and Mickey’s heart feels like a tight fist, like it’s going to fall apart if he doesn’t hear his kid crying in the next five seconds, but no one else is panicking, no one looks bothered as they clean his baby up, sucking fluid out of their nose and mouth and then there’s a fucking _blessed_ sound of crying filling the air. 

The sound is strong. Mickey’s kid is strong, and when they settle them onto Mickey’s chest, Mickey clutches them to himself, Doctor Stone beaming as she says “Meet your new baby girl.” 

Mickey holds her tight, presses his mouth to her head, checks that she’s got all ten fingers and all ten toes, and then promptly passes the fuck out. 

——————————————————

When he comes to he’s in a recovery room, Ian’s asleep in a chair next to the bed and there’s a bassinet next to him but no baby in it. The sight has Mickey panicking, pushing himself up despite his pain, and biting back a whimper. The small commotion has Ian awake though, sitting up straight and reaching forward to push Mickey back into the bed. “Woah, woah, lay back down Mick. You need to lay down, it’s not like you just gave birth a couple hours ago or anything.” 

“Where?” He asks, and it’s enough, Ian understands what he means, he knows he does. 

“They took her to look her over and monitor her for a little bit. Doctor Stone said it’s normal procedure, especially when it’s a male carrier or early. She was both, so it’s even more normal, I guess.” Ian sounds nervous, like he expects Mickey to flip out on him for letting them take their baby, and it’s a valid fucking fear, because Mickey’s tempted. Really fucking tempted, except Doctor Stone’s explained this to Mickey before, went over exactly how everything would work before it happened, but Mickey’d gotten so caught up in the panic he’d forgot. 

“Okay. She- She’s good though? Healthy?” 

“Yeah, she’s good. She’s perfect.” Ian says, eyes big and voice awed. “I can’t believe we made her, honestly, she’s so perfect.” He adds, and Mickey’s heart swells, feels three sizes too big, like he’s suddenly turned into the Grinch on Christmas and _fuck_ , this kid is hours old and Mickey feels like he’s already wrapped around her finger so tight that there’s no way to undo it. 

“I wanna see her. I _need_ to see her.” He says, grips Ian’s hand tight, his desperation to see his daughter showing without as much of the haze of the drugs they’d pumped into him for the cesarean. 

—————————————————

Less than an hour later he’s sitting up in bed, his daughter cradled to his chest, holding a bottle carefully as he feeds her. 

She’s 7 pounds even, they name her Mary (though Mandy will later scrunch up her nose and say it’s an old lady name), and Mickey is absolutely sure she’s the most perfect thing that’s ever existed. Mickey has always thought that what he’s had with Ian made him free, and he’s right in a way, but this, this beautiful, perfect child that’s part him, and part Ian, and entirely wonderful, she’s fucking liberation.


End file.
